


burn 'til we die out (you'll be my end)

by ephemerals (stpatrick)



Category: Mamamoo
Genre: Angst, F/F, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, Moon Byulyi | Moonbyul-centric, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:20:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27893731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stpatrick/pseuds/ephemerals
Summary: Her skin crawls just watching the other girls dance. They are effortless and dainty. Each movement as gentle as a feather. A pit grows in her stomach.Byulyi learns that afternoon how hard it is to scrub yourself clean in a communal bathroom.
Relationships: Kim Yongsun | Solar/Moon Byulyi | Moonbyul
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	burn 'til we die out (you'll be my end)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Supernova (tiger's blud) by Kat Cunning.

Byulyi packed her life into a suitcase as the winter bloomed into spring. The years of failed auditions and rejection still lingered fresh on her skin. Moving to Seoul was a surreal daze. Since she was little, she danced along to the music shows, her room plastered with posters of pretty idols. A distant dream. At eleven, she begged her mother for dance classes to no avail. Her parents wanted her to set more reasonable goals, do well in school, find a steady job, a nice husband, move to a small town. Byulyi didn’t have the heart to tell her parents she hated the countryside. 

_ “Be realistic, darling. Girls like you just aren’t cut out to be idols.” _

Her mother had given her an apprehensive kiss goodbye as Byulyi got onto the train. Her father had not even bothered to come. To him, this was just one of her failed extraditions. That she would be back by the end of the week with her tail between her legs. When she would learn the dances on television, he would switch the unit off. Those posters on her wall? Pulled down with one rip. Sometimes she thought that maybe he was right. When recruiters scrutinised her appearance or criticised her dancing, she knew it would be easier to give it all up. Fall into the familiar, monotonous routine of the regular folk. 

_ “Let her fail and crawl back begging.” _

But she couldn’t give up just yet. Seoul kept calling her name. 

  
  


. . .

She swore the dorms looked much larger online. The walls were chipped and the carpet discoloured, smelling strongly of a cocktail of bleach and mold. The sky was already dimming when she had arrived in the city, most of the other trainees practicing until the early hours of the morning. The room she was assigned looked unoccupied. Clean and tidy, oddly unsettling. No photos lined the walls, knick-knacks on shelves or clothing tossed onto furniture. The only reason Byulyi even knew about her roommate was from her registration forms.  _ Kim Yongsun _ . No matter the situation, the room immediately felt like home. Outside, the skyline shone bright. 

She packed away her things, listening to the commotion of the city down below. When her peers started to file in for the night, she doesn’t greet them. Her roommate doesn’t return. 

That night, as she fell asleep, she traced her finger around the silhouette of the city. She was exactly where she needed to be. 

. . .

“You don’t see too many twenty year old trainee’s being recruited,” the receptionist tutted, as she filed her paperwork. She had gaped at her age scribbled on the form like it was in a foreign language. Byulyi shrugged it off. She was really here now. 

“I think most people as we get older give up on our childhood dreams.”

She flashed her pearly whites. The insincerity made Byulyi shiver. Nothing could stop her now. Not her fathers disapproval or the receptionist’s glib small talk. She’s pointed to a hallway and directed to an office on the left. 

“The director is waiting for you,” she spat, “good luck.” 

“ _ When are you going to grow up, Byulyi? _ ”

. . .

She had met him before. Plump and mundane, with thick fingers pointed at her flaws from across the room. It’s to be expected, she thought, it’s all part of the industry. Despite her wishful thinking, each remark still cut like a knife. 

“ _ Your dancing is boyish, to succeed you need to be more dainty.” _

**Slice.**

“ _ Your voice needs some work. It’s too deep for the image we are after. _ ”

**Slice.**

“ _ You’ll need to lose some more weight. Your face is too chubby.  _ _ Men won’t like you if you are fat. _ ”

**Slice.**

The words sting, but she’s heard them all before. They hang in the air, they caress her skin. She’s still smiling by the end, bowing politely before being sent away. They can’t help but linger around her, but she still smiles when introducing herself in her first dance class. Even when the other trainees whisper among themselves when they hear her age or see her dance or hear her voice, she smiles. She’s exactly where she needs to be, she tells herself.

“ _ You smile funny. _ ”

A younger girl jeers towards the end of the day. She stops smiling at an instant. 

**Slice.**

. . .

Across the room, the bed remains unslept in for the second night in a row. She doesn’t think of home, she doesn’t introduce herself to her peers and she definitely does not smile. The neon lights paint Byulyi’s dreams. As she rustles awake, she realises how much the lights hurt her eyes. 

. . .

Jung Wheein aggressively introduces herself during breakfast during Byulyi’s second morning, with a firm handshake and a childish grin. Beside her stood Ahn Hyejin, slightly taller with a polite wave and a shy smile. Byulyi decides almost immediately they are an odd pairing, but she's grateful for the company. They walk to practice together, following around Byulyi like lost puppies. Even though they have both been trainees longer than her, she can feel the admiration radiate from the younger girls. They bound behind her with linked arms.

“The other trainees don’t like us very much,” Wheein admitted, “They don’t think we have what it takes to be idols.”

Byulyi knew they thought the same of her. It remains unsaid.

“Usually Yongsun-unnie walks with us in the mornings, but she hasn’t been home a lot recently,” Hyejin fills the silence.

“Oh,” Byulyi speaks up, “she’s my roommate. I haven’t met her yet.”

“She’s got a secret boyfriend,” Wheein laughed. Hyejin playfully slapped her arm. She rolled her eyes in response, “Well, we don’t actually know where she goes. She has to sleep  _ somewhere _ . She takes different classes from us, anyway. That’s what happens when you’re close to debuting.”

It piqued her interest. Flowers had begun to sprout beside the sidewalk. They would be trampled by tomorrow. 

. . .

_ “If you aren’t going to take this seriously, I’m sure there’s some pretty teenager c _ _ rying outside, begging for an opportunity.” _

She learns that afternoon how hard it is to scrub yourself clean in a communal bathroom. Twirling around aimlessly in her dance class had led to a public scolding by the teacher. She has to remind herself that other girls in the room had formal training. Years of it. They are effortless and dainty. Each movement as gentle as a feather. Her skin crawls just watching them. A pit grows in her stomach. 

She doesn’t cry. The water scalds her skin until her body is red and raw. It should burn yet she is completely numb. 

_(Maybe her skin will peel back like a flower in bloom? Maybe she's good enough underneath?)_

The water never runs cold.

**Author's Note:**

> Not quite sure what this is or will be.


End file.
